


Return, Do Not Regress

by Hephy



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal, M/M, Male Slash, Slash, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephy/pseuds/Hephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair and Malik have worked to pick up the pieces of the Brotherhood. Sometimes it's taxing. </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Altair was forgiven but has yet to forgive himself. Malik reminds him who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return, Do Not Regress

**Author's Note:**

> Found this sitting in my writing folder. It's from 2011. Kinda rough around the edges but I tried to spruce it up a bit with a once over. Hopefully it's not so awful as to be unreadable.

Malik reached across the distance they were apart and set his hand on Altair’s shoulder. The body quaked beneath his touch, but when his fingers curled in a soft squeeze the fight ebbed. Calling Altair’s name usually roused him from sleep, but the silent gesture had a gentling effect.

Returning to his journaling, he lost himself in the scrawling of words. The feather scratching parchment was a lonely sound in the dead of night and the flickering of a candle twisted shadows against stone. Two more pages covered in ink were followed by a third before he was interrupted.

“It is late.” Altair’s voice was soft yet firm; logical yet aware of the importance of diplomacy.

“Sleep couldn’t find me tonight.” He looked at Altair, seeing gold eyes staring at his open journal.

“What are you doing out here?”

Malik exhaled, “Looking after _you_. All the noise you make could bring even the most undutiful of guards crawling to us.”

 “Noise?”

“Your nightmares, Altair.” Now their eyes met, but Altair averted his a moment later.

“I was not aware.”

“I would imagine not, otherwise I wouldn’t be here to keep you quiet.” A moment of silence passed before Malik set his feather in the center of his journal and quested forth, “What troubles you? Your dreams seem a violent burden.”

“It is nothing.”

“A lie?”

“The weight is my own to carry.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Malik pushed back the white hood to run his fingers through Altair’s short hair. Altair’s eyes dropped shut and he sighed so softly it almost went unheard.

“I will not pressure you for answers, Altair. If and when you need to talk – I’ll be here to listen.”

Altair indulged in the sensation of fingers making the roots of his hair tingle, “Thank you, Malik. _Brother_.” The touch vanished too soon, but he was thankful for the words and physical connection, for however brief it was.

“Go back to sleep. You’ll need your rest.”

“As will you.”

“I’m not the one who will be running around come morning.”

“It is your mind that needs rest.”

He looked at Altair lying on his side, arm pillowing his head. He smiled.

“Perhaps some of that great wisdom you claim I have is rubbing off on you.” Malik closed his journal and set it aside. He made no effort to leave for his own bedding, and after a minute Altair’s eyes cracked open.

“Are you going to sleep here? Like that?”

“Does my presence bother you?”

Altair assured it was not that, “Your choice of position – you’ll be pained when you wake.”

Again, Malik saw the logic. He used his arm to slide away from the wall and settle on his back to stare at the sky dotted with hundreds of vibrant stars. He inhaled quick but silent when Altair leaned over him, hand reaching past. He relaxed when he realized his fellow brother was merely snuffing the candle he had forgotten about.

Altair sighed and resettled on his side. He was closer to Malik now, enjoying the warmth that came with their proximity. Opening his eyes, he observed Malik staring into the night sky.

He wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but felt the prod would be too invasive. The edge of sadness in his eyes provided an experienced guess what Malik was thinking about, and the subject matter was not something he wanted to broach.

Between one breath and the next, Altair was asleep. Malik noted his even breathing and glanced over. The calm that should have been there was marred with a furrowed brow. Even in rest, Altair ceased to find peace.

Malik was half gone from consciousness when he was mercilessly wrenched from the welcoming outstretched arms of sleep. Something hit him in the ribs. His quiet grunt of pain went unheard by his assailant. He propped himself on his elbow and glared at Altair. The outburst had been swift and so far not followed by another.

But Altair was twitching, seemingly fighting in his sleep. At least none of his weapons were equipped; otherwise the strike he had taken to the ribs would have been a stab.

“Altair.” Malik feared reaching out, so he instead firmed his tone, “ _Altair_.”

The tone and volume jarred Altair from his dream. His eyes snapped open and his breath came in tiny, quiet pants. Malik shifted and reached out to card his fingers through Altair’s hair again.

Altair’s heaved sigh said all that was needed. His eyes looked strained and without energy. Malik touched the exhausted features, running his fingers carefully over Altair’s eyelids to close them.

“With such troubled sleep it’s a wonder you’re not dead on your feet during the day.”

Altair’s hand closed over his, drawing it down to rest over his chest. No further words were shared, but the sudden nudge Altair gave his shoulder told him what was wanted. He rolled onto his other side, his good side he supposed, and smiled at the familiarity of the motions. The body pressed to his back was cool but soon their combined heat would be shared.

It had been a number of years since they had slept this way, and the reminder of days long gone was a bittersweet one. He pressed it out of his mind and instead focused on the arm wrapped around his midsection. Their fingers intertwined for a few lingering moments, the gesture one of habit even though it hadn’t been practiced in ages.

Altair pressed his nose to the nape of Malik’s neck and inhaled his clean scent. He felt a thumb running over his wrist idly, and he further relaxed into the heat and comfort of the embrace.

Malik smiled knowing Altair couldn’t see it, and let himself ease toward sleep after he felt the body behind him slip into a peaceful, dreamless unconsciousness.

 

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

 

The trickling of water was what drew Altair into the room, but the sight before him was what kept him. He stared, unabashed, at the figure of a grown man before him. The line chasing up the center of Malik’s back was crisscrossed with scars. He knew his own back harbored its own blemishes; some even shared their stories with Malik’s.

But his eyes were drawn to the area where Malik’s left arm was missing. His presence was not yet discovered, and a part of him felt guilty for standing there completely silent and unwilling to speak.

He studied Malik’s method of cleansing. With only one arm, Altair imagined something as simple as washing could be made difficult. Malik’s hand dipped into the ceramic basin, cupping water and then pouring it over the thick muscles of his neck, washing away the dust of the day. His fingers rubbed a bit, and Altair figured that being hunched over a counter all day wore at him.

Altair noted his discomfort, eyes analyzing and locating every area that appeared to be under some measure of distress. The naked body before him became a map, and he routed a path from hips to shoulders.

Malik washed his hair and shaved with a sharp throwing knife. The quiet scraping brought Altair back to why he was here. He was checking in. He was delivering information. He was here to see if Malik needed anything.

He was forcing himself to stop _spying_ on his friend.

Altair set the small ceramic bowl on the wooden table by the entrance. He was not silent about it, and he watched from the corner of his eyes as Malik half-turned to him.

“I apologize, Malik. I did not know you were…”

“Silence. How many times did we see each other naked when we were children?”

But it still felt wrong. Malik seemed more naked now than he had in the past. Altair forced himself to look at the floor.

“What did you bring me?” Malik continued to wash, unbothered by his company.

“Ink.” Altair was staring at the neatly folded pile of Malik’s clothing. How and why Malik folded it like that he didn’t know.

“And what news?”

“None. There is no new information yet.”

“I suppose that’s not bad, but I was hoping for something at least.”

Altair’s eyes rolled back to Malik, dragging up his figure from feet to shoulders. His mind nudged him forward. For a moment he stopped, fighting against the urge, but he lost and carried himself forward. He reached for the cloth folded neatly beside the basin and submerged it in the water. The water was lukewarm, and he didn’t bother ringing it out before he brought it to the upper part of Malik’s back. He pressed it to the warm skin and squeezed to set free the water. It poured over the contours of muscle and bone, eventually dripping off and falling to the ground.

Malik didn’t appear to disapprove, and Altair ran the wet cloth over shoulders, back, hips and thighs. His other hand followed the path, rubbing the water into his skin. He turned Malik around, finding he had grown significantly since their days in training. He was still firm, but it was the modest amount of body hair that surprised him. There was a skinny dark trail of hair over his belly, leading down to his genitals. His chest was left mostly smooth, with the exception of straight, soft hairs in the centerline of his chest.

“Something wrong, Altair?”

Altair didn’t bring his eyes up, leaving them shadowed beneath his hood. His hands continued their task of cleansing.

“It is nothing.”

Malik’s hand came up and with what was clearly a practiced action, his hand snaked under Altair’s equipment and slipped his gear from his waist. Altair was disrobed efficiently. When his hood was pulled he felt truly naked.

“Altair,” Malik’s hand pressed to his face, “look at me.”

Honoring the request, Altair turned his head and met his gaze. In those eyes he saw nothing; a neutral stare gave him no leverage on his current situation. Malik could be as expressive or as plain as he wanted and if he desired he could convince the novices that even the most elaborate and ridiculous fables were true. Filled with cunning, wisdom, and experience, he was worthy of being a teacher to new assassins. Those traits were the ones that made Altair glad he had this man at his side, helping him achieve his - _their_ goals.

Malik’s eyes never left his, “You’ve always been distant, but lately you’re solitary behavior has grown worse. The _boys_ are starting to worry about you.”

The barest twitch of Altair’s mouth signified he had found at least some measure of amusement in the information. His eyes fell away, but it was executed in a manner that was perceived as a sign of respect. He bowed his head, eyes closing, and pressed their foreheads together. The action portrayed everything they were and had ever been.

Still, Altair held some hesitation. When they were in training together they had been close friends. After his arrogance, his fall, and his resurgence, Altair still found his footing unstable despite the solidification of their goals.

Malik seemed to understand his struggles, and occasionally they talked about it, but he never had much to say. From time to time he was riddled with shame so thick he felt he would break, but those times were rare and often accompanied stress. He was left alone during his bouts of self reflection, and the greater part of him was thankful for the solitude.

Exposed now, Altair let his hands wander over Malik’s body. They bathed each other in silence as the air between them grew warm and comfortable. This ritual had been done many times in their youth, and as they had matured and learned, their mapping of bodies became less of an innocent playtime and more of a curious experimentation.

Altair, who had been forward and insistent in their youth, was now hesitant.

Malik caught the avoidance of eye contact as he brushed his hand down the side of Altair’s face and ran his thumb over a slightly hollowed cheek. He would need to make sure he fed the man better. Now was a time more than ever that Altair needed strength.

Golden eyes closed and the touch was eased into. The desire for contact was restrained, but Malik saw it shaking beneath the surface. His fingers curled shut and he turned over his hand, rubbing knuckles against the stubble of Altair’s face.

Eyebrows knit together and Malik almost felt the pain emanating from the expression. He saw the movement of Altair’s throat as he swallowed, and watched the slight shiver wrack his frame. He cast his hand higher to run fingers through short, sandy hair and pressed forward to bring their bodies flush. The action of manually craning Altair’s neck until he felt the tickle of facial hair against his throat amused him. Any worse and he would need to verbally announce to Altair each and every action that was permissible.

Altair’s arms wrapped tightly, possessively almost, around Malik as they embraced. He nosed the skin along a warm neck, and settled to rest his head below Malik’s clean-shaven jaw.

Malik indulged in the sensation of leaning into the weight of another body. He rubbed Altair’s shoulder and allowed the rare behavior to last as long as needed.

Fingers moved against his lower back, and after a moment of confusion Malik realized what was happening. He inhaled, eyes rolling up from the bliss spreading through his muscles. The massage was divine on his flesh and he prayed it would continue.

Every problem area was found out, even areas Malik himself was unaware of. Relief washed over the expanse of his back, a few moments of firmer pressure had his spine popping quietly, and he couldn’t hold back a sigh as he melted further into Altair.

The tautness of the muscles ebbed more and more, and as their bodies continued to shift against one another, Altair found it increasingly difficult to maintain his stoic state. He ended the massage after completing a thorough path from the base of Malik’s spine to the base of his skull. By that point Malik was leaning so heavily against him he was afraid to pull away.

Altair retired his hands and interlocked his fingers at the small of Malik’s back, waiting for him to make the next move.

It was some time before Malik pulled away, but when he did it was not a cold action. His hand fell to Altair’s bicep, where his thumb ran over the muscle momentarily before the touch vanished. It was reassurance. It was a thank you.

It was an invitation.

Altair turned his head to the side, listening to more than watching Malik as he pulled on his black robe and nothing more.

Letting his emotions smear out his logic, Altair turned and eliminated the distance between them. This time they were front to back, and his hands were less gentle, rid of their hesitation.

“You do this on purpose.”

Malik exhaled a sound of amusement, his hand covering one of Altair’s, “What would you be referring to I wonder, because whatever it is obviously has you cowering in some corner day and night. What is it you want, Altair?”

So it was going to be that way; teasing up to the finish? He could play along.

“I think you know.”

“Which means we both know. So why don’t you just say it instead of crawling around it day after day?”

Altair turned him, one hand clasped firmly over Malik’s arm, the other on his waist. Their eyes met, but neither showed any sign of hostility or hesitation.

And Altair said it. His voice was strong and unwavering, which was more than he had been expecting considering the nervous wreck he was on the inside. It was his life of training that had given him such ability.

Malik’s expression warmed, “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear that.”

It was then that Altair’s gaze dropped away from his.

“Why did you wait so long?” Malik touched his face. He wasn’t trying to steer him back. Instead he studied him as though attempting to see what it was that ailed him.

Altair shook his head, “For everything I’ve…” His voice cut away, his fingers ghosting over the nub of Malik’s arm.

Malik understood, “For someone who once looked me in the eyes and apologized with such commitment and strength you are far too timid now.”

This was different. Malik may have, in a way, forgiven him, but he could never forgive himself.

“I understand your regrets, Altair, but listen when I say you need to let go. Stop letting these demons haunt you. There is nothing you can do to change what has passed. Learn from it, but do not let it cripple you.”

Those gold eyes said everything Altair wasn’t vocalizing.

“You’re a good man.”

“You never deserved any of this, Malik. For what I took from you it is I who deserved punishment.”

“No,” that time he did bring Altair’s eyes to his, “ _you_ do not. You’ve banished what made you weak and foolish, and I’m honored to stand beside you and call you brother. Now tell me again what you’ve been holding back.”

Altair steeled himself, more thankful for this man than ever, and repeated his admission.

“ _I want what we used to have_.”

Malik moved closer, “And you can have it.”

He nearly crumbled to his knees at those words. Relief washed through him, and instead of falling over he pressed his forehead to Malik’s. He smiled briefly, relieved and pained, before controlling himself, but his shaky hands gave him away.

Malik brushed their noses together and clasped one of Altair’s hands in his to reassure. He tilted his head in, kissing him.

It was a brief one-sided kiss. When it ended Altair inhaled sharply between their lips. His hand not held down came up, much steadier now, and touched the side of Malik’s face.

Their mouths met again, this time in a joint effort. It was a slow, testing pace: a reintroduction to a connection they hadn’t shared in years.

Parting, Altair breathed deep, but his retreat was cut short. Malik pulled him this way and that until they were settled on the mound of pillows and blankets that made up his bed.

Their reacquainting started slow as they took their time, but the expiration of their patience was inevitable. Touches became rougher, hotter, and less concerned with fragility, and Malik chose to submit only for the sake of making things easier. Their ministrations were not smooth or flawless, but they adjusted and learned, aware this was a process they needed to go through.

Altair seemed to recall their past excursions in a swift manner. While their petting, biting, and rubbing did become rough, Altair took great care with preparing him. His caution dragged on almost to the point of meeting the end of Malik’s patience. When Altair finally braced himself on a forearm and breached him, Malik dumped every pesky irritant from his day.

Their bodies rediscovered each other, and the rhythm set was familiar and comfortable. It consumed Malik; the feeling of fullness and the brushing of something inside relaxed and enticed him. The calluses of Altair’s hand were a rough pleasure against his skin as he was worked. His heart thudded in his chest, his orgasm on a slow but steady climb, as Altair’s hips worked to drive harder into him.

Altair held out for Malik, for a moment afraid he wouldn’t last. The arm tightening around his shoulders, drawing him in as Malik tensed with a grunt was his signal. He finished a mere moment later, rocking up and into the heat of Malik’s body.

They indulged in their climaxes together, tangled, panting, and damp.

It was the huff of Altair’s surprised exhale that sobered Malik. Fingers touched the base of his neck, where the muscle sloped into shoulder, but were replaced with a tender kiss a moment later.

“You’re bleeding.” Altair licked the blood away, “You should say something when I hurt you.”

“I wasn’t aware you hurt me.”

“It’s already bruising.”

“Is it beautiful?” Malik smiled at the look of amused confusion that crossed Altair’s face. He chuckled and pulled him in to kiss the taste of blood out of his mouth. The shift and press of their bodies made him inhale and deepen their connection. He moaned and opened his mouth against Altair’s now invasive kiss. The ridge of Altair’s scar against his lips engrossed him and when they parted he caught the quirk of a smile.

“It’s very beautiful on you, Malik.”

“ _Good_. I expect more in the future.”

Altair inclined his head and in a breathless voice replied, “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of my AltMal works I've actually posted because AltMal is my favorite thing and I know I can never get these two characters quite right. So this is very scary for me.
> 
> Thoughts, comments, critiques, and anything else welcome.


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